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❝ This is the worst thing that could ever happen, ❞ Curly says, furious.
Anya, leaning on a cryopod by the collapsed vent, glances away from her book reluctantly. Her lips part, confusion a line between her brows as she asks, ❝ Are you making a joke? ❞
❝ It’s hyperbole. I’m exaggerating. ❞
❝ I thought so, but it’s hard to tell. You say things so convincingly. ❞
❝ Sorry, ❞ he murmurs, staring up at his broken doohickey. Useless metal, useless screwdriver, useless Curly.
❝ Exaggerating… you’re upset, ❞ Anya says.
Curly is both surprised and not. He doesn’t always expect her to be able to read him. Her brain complicates how she recognizes emotion, but she’s caring, and now she’s been told an effect (exaggeration), she can identify the cause (the broken vent).
❝ I’m frustrated, ❞ he tells her, sighing and stepping down from his step stool. ❝ I really thought this would work. ❞
❝ I think the wrong thing all the time, ❞ she says, some sympathy creeping in her tone. Some might think she’s unemotional, and the reality might be true for others, even herself when she’s with unfamiliar people, but it’s not true in his instance. ❝ Maybe I can help. ❞
No, Swansea’s already on my ass for doing this, I don’t want you hurt, is what Curly wants to say, but the genuine toothy smile (well, attempt at a smile. It kind of looks like a grimace.) steals the words from his mouth. He nods and she begins to climb up the step ladder, eyes roving over the fragments of metal and glass, taking everything in. Her hands shake beside her.
❝ It’s really badly soldered, I think you made it worse. ❞ she concludes.
He winces. No punches held. ❝ I used to be better. ❞
❝ You’re bad now. ❞
Anya had asked him a while back to let her know if she ever stepped on his toes, so to speak. Usually he would jump to disagreement, saying there’s no need, but Anya asked, and he likes her. He explains.
❝ Ah, that hurt my feelings, ❞ he says without heat. ❝ I know objectively that you’re right, but people appreciate… ❞ he tries to find the word. ❝ fluffing when it comes to observational critiques. It’s okay. I’m not mad. ❞
❝ You’re patient, ❞ she says, nodding. ❝ Sorry. Fluffing… how would you say it? ❞
❝ I’d say, your soldering is a little iffy. ❞
❝ It’s a lot iffy. ❞
❝ That’s the fluffing. The white lie. No one’s feelings get hurt and the problem is still identified. ❞
Anya nods more. ❝ I’m a little better at soldering. I can help Swansea for you. ❞
❝ Nice, ❞ he says.
She steps down and he squeezes her shoulder gently. Her face dips to his hand and holds it there, cheek pressed to his knuckles, a smile turning the corners of her mouth up. Curly isn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t move her away.
❝ Can we spend time together after we fix this? ❞ Anya asks.
❝ If we fix it. ❞
❝ I can fix it, ❞ she says happily, straightening her head and freeing his hand. ❝ I know I’m a nurse, but I’m much better at soldering than you. ❞
Curly’s a prideful person by instinct. He walks to where Anya was originally standing, throwing a quip of over his shoulder, ❝ You think you’re better than me. ❞
❝ I know I’m better, ❞ she says, climbing back up the ladder. ❝ Sorry. I know a little that I’m better. ❞
He should say Hey, we’ll work on it , but Curly doesn’t want to. He likes her just as she is, accidental insults and all.